


Victory on His Tongue

by keir



Series: Shance Week 2016 [5]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Bonus Chapter, FaceFucking, M/M, Muzzles, Oral Sex, Psychological Trauma, Rough Sex, Shance Week 2016, Shance Week 2016: Battle Scars, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2016-11-16
Packaged: 2018-08-31 08:12:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8571031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keir/pseuds/keir
Summary: Shiro has made a glorious return as the Champion, persuaded by the threat to his lover, Lance. And every winning Champion deserves his just reward.Sequel to "Welcome Home, Champion."





	

**Author's Note:**

> Look, y'all: a BONUS chapter for Shance Week! I originally wrote this for ghostering's b'day, and they're gracious enough to let me share it with everyone. This is a chapter set in the same verse as my original Battle Scars submission titled "Welcome Home, Champion." Unfortunately I can't link the two together because they're already under my series/collection for Shance Week.
> 
> EDIT: Forgot to mention that this was heavily inspired by hardlynotnever's art on tumblr! They are an amazing artist who has inspired many of us to torture Lance in a variety of ways. I seriously suggest you check out their art if you haven't seen it yet!

Shiro’s breath heaves from his mouth, as if it were an illness his body is trying to eject. It clings inside the confines of his muzzle, which wraps around the lower part of his face, cupping his jaw, muggy and hot. His heartbeat pounds in his ears like victory drums. 

Victory. It tastes like the copper tang of blood. The gods know he's spilled plenty today. With the muzzle on it's not like he can taste it, yet still the flavor remains heavy on the back of his tongue.

His throat is raw, both from his own shouts and the exertion of breathing so heavily. His fingers twitch in a small caress over the hilt of his beloved sword, the cover there worn by use after use. It's as familiar as the curves of his lover.

Shiro looks up then, away from the mess of blood and innards and corpses on the arena floor, eyes unerringly finding him. Lance. His lover smiles at him from the balcony beside Zarkon, grin wide as a shining galaxy. Lance wears a black piece of clothing which wraps around his shoulders and upper arms and bleeds into a high-necked collar, leaving his lean torso exposed. A small pair of black shorts hug his hips, and he wears the thigh high-heeled boots that he knows Shiro loves, his legs looking a mile long in them. Lance looks to Zarkon, who nods, eyes never leaving Shiro. But Shiro doesn't look at him, doesn't bother; he only has eyes for Lance.

Lance looks back at him and smiles again, then turns and disappears.

A hand on his arm startles him and he pivots swiftly, swinging his sword with ease to decapitate the soldier who touched him. Shiro stares, desensitized to the fact that he's killed someone he didn't have to. The guard must have been new, didn't know not to approach Shiro after the height of battle. The spectators who are left laugh, amused by it.

The more experienced guards stand by, motioning him toward the exit. He passes them, handing over his sword as he does. He tried to escape with it once, cut down so many of them, but they just kept coming. He knows it's futile now, and besides, he has something else that holds his interest more.

He meets Lance in the dark hallway. His lover smiles at him, presses himself against Shiro, who shudders in delight. Lance cups his face, barely having to rock upward with his heels on to reach it. "My Champion," he murmurs before he lays a kiss across the thick, black muzzle, then licks across it. Shiro makes a muffled noise, arms coming up to grab Lance in a tight hold. Lance arches eagerly, managing to wriggle a hand between them and cup Shiro's crotch. Shiro is ready to go right there in the hallway, but Lance kisses his muzzle again and murmurs, "Take me somewhere we can be alone."

Shiro wrestles with the decision of whether or not to carry Lance, but he likes the sound of his heels clicking on the cold, hard floor. He's been conditioned by it, his body responding, knowing he will be with Lance soon. He releases his lover, taking him by the hand a pulling him toward the barracks mess hall, the closest place he can think of. Zarkon has denied him his own quarters, and Lance sleeps in his bed (untouched, or so the Emperor claims, and Lance won't speak of it); Shiro gags at the thought of taking Lance there.

So he drags his lover into the mess hall. The few soldiers look up, and the smart ones vacate the premises at the sight of Shiro. "Get out!" he snarls at the few who are left, voice muffled but no less threatening as he bellows the command. They scurry away and soon the two are left alone.

Shiro shoves the other man onto a table and wastes no time stripping Lance of his Galran garb, all but the thigh high boots. Lance allows him, panting with excitement, his erection catching on his shorts momentarily as Shiro tries to rip them off. As soon as he's done, Lance stares up at him, parting his legs and displaying himself to Shiro, who growls his satisfaction. He hurriedly claws at his own clothes, not wasting any time to wipe what blood as patterned his skin away.

Once he's bare, he stares at Lance, who takes his time looking over Shiro's body, as if committing every muscle to memory. His eyes wander until they stop between Shiro's legs. A hand reaches out and cups him like it did earlier, only without the barrier of clothes between.

The only barrier remaining now is the cage his cock is locked in. It throbs in its confines, demanding freedom. It hurt so badly in the beginning, drove Shiro to the point of madness, especially when he was only allowed to touch Lance and not fuck him, but he's grown used to the pain. Has used it to make himself stronger by being able to ignore physical affliction. He will not let Zarkon wield it against him, but turn it to his advantage.

Lance cups his balls, fingers gliding over the skin and wiry hair until they come to rest on his palm. He hefts them, large and full and angry red, massaging. Shiro growls again, impatient. He can play with his balls any time he likes; it's his cock he's thinking about right now.

And Lance knows that, but he also knows that they have so little time together and he wants to take everything he can. He leans forward, kissing them tenderly, drawing the musk of Shiro in through his nose along with the scent of blood and death. His tongue darts out, playfully curling against them before he sucks them into his mouth, cheeks bulging with their fullness.

"Lance!" Shiro finally begs, and Lance is the only person in this godforsaken universe that Shiro will beg anything from. Blue eyes meet his, acknowledging the pain and the love and the heartbreak and everything else between them before his hand reaches up and he presses his fingerprint onto the reader on the cage.

Shiro wastes no time as he's freed, grabs Lance by the hair and forces his cock into his mouth. It grows there on Lance's tongue, rapidly swelling until it fills his mouth, hot and thick. Lance moans, gagging on it as it hits the back of his throat and slides down farther. Shiro forces it in deep, though Lance is all too willing; he places a hand on the back of his lover's head, holding him steady as he begins to fuck his face hard, without mercy, just the way he is when he enters the arena.

Lance makes a symphony of noises as his mouth and throat are assaulted by the thick cock. His eyes well up as he stares up at Shiro, tears of joy running down his stretched cheeks. Hands reach up to cup Shiro's ass, squeezing the muscled cheeks as he thrusts. Shiro snarls, almost loses himself completely. His body wills him to empty his seed; it has grown needy in the two weeks since he was allowed to fuck Lance last.

But he can't waste it now, not on this. He's only allowed to come once; if he tries for it a second time, whatever the druids did to him will create waves of agony that he will suffer through for at least a day. He won't make that mistake again.

No, his seed is too precious now, and he will only spend it deep inside Lance’s ass.

He pulls away even as he grips Lance's hair to keep him from following. Lance gasps raggedly and mewls at the loss, which turns to a hacking cough. Shiro tries to control his rapid breath, tries to calm his body enough that he won't come the moment he penetrates. He rubs the wet head of his cock across Lance's face and through the trails of his tears. Lance stares up at him with watery blue eyes and a blissful expression. He yearns for this just as deeply as Shiro himself.

Shiro taps his cock across a reddened cheek before releasing his hold on Lance’s hair. He shoves plates and cutlery aside with abandon, letting it crash to the floor with a clatter before he bends down and lifts Lance by his waist, easily picking him up and sitting him on the table. Lance stares up at him through his lashes, breathing uneven and lips swollen. Shiro stares at them with a hunger that will never be sated.

Lance leans forward and lifts a hand to caress Shiro's cheek. The Galran champion presses against it, nuzzling into the palm, though he can only feel a single fingertip at the edge of his muzzle. Lance's hand caresses for a moment before traveling back toward Shiro's hair, back toward the lock on his muzzle.

Shiro stops him, grabs his hand in a crushing grip, but Lance makes no sound of pain. They stare at each other, Shiro measuring the level of Lance's commitment. If he releases the clasp on the muzzle, Zarkon will make him pay. Not Shiro, no. Only Lance. Shiro will pay in the anguish of knowing that his lover is the only one who will pay the price; Lance's safety is the one on the line. "Let me," Lance says on a breathy moan. Shiro stares at Lance for another lingering moment, fingers of his other hand digging into the flesh on a bronze thigh.

Finally Shiro huffs, clouding his muzzle with muggy breath, and nods assent as he releases his lover's hand. Lance's finger presses against the lock and sets Shiro free.

Shiro rips the muzzle away, gulping in fresh air, feeling it cool his sweaty face. He knows that it has dug red lines against his skin, but he doesn't care what he looks like. There is only so much time before they're alerted that his muzzle has been removed, before they come for them. He grabs hold of Lance and forces their mouths together like two fighters clashing in the arena. Lance's hands slide over and around him, desperately feeling his skin, traveling over multiple scars, both old and new, through dried blood and sweat.

Shiro snarls as he forces Lance's mouth open with his own, tongue plunging in and taking, taking, taking. Lance moans, fingernails scratching across Shiro's back, leaving his own mark. Shiro growls, hands wedging themselves beneath Lance's buttocks, squeezing hard.

Shiro grunts in surprise as Lance bites him. He tries to pull back, but Lance won't let go, teeth digging into his lover's lip, grinding down until Shiro's blood blossoms on his tongue.

The Champion snarls, lifting Lance and slamming him onto the table on his back. Lance finally lets go, moaning wantonly. He spreads his legs as wide as they'll go, showing his willingness. Shiro's fingers dig into his thighs as he begins biting and sucking across Lance's neck and shoulders in a frenzy, desperate to decorate Lance in marks that will last, to show Zarkon that lance is HIS, but they won't be enough. It's never enough.

Lance screams as Shiro bites into his neck, bruising at first and then the skin breaks beneath his blunt teeth, giving way to its master. Lance's nails scrape furrows that bleed across the back of Shiro's shoulders, marking him in his own way. Shiro shakes his head, worrying at Lance's flesh like a rabid dog. Lance cries, choking, breathless sobs, arching so his erection rubs against Shiro's abdomen, legs clenching on his waist.

Shiro grabs hold of bronze thighs, forcing them open again. He finally lets go of his hold on Lance's neck, rearing up over him. He stares down at Lance, who shivers beneath his gaze,  nipples perked and hips rutting upward, trying to find relief for his aching cock. Shiro's own throbs at the sight of the wreckage of Lance's neck; the ragged wound bleeds openly and a giant bruise is sure to bloom within hours. Lance is HIS, will be HIS forever, and now anyone will be able to see his mark.

Shiro pushes Lance's legs up, stares at the glistening hole revealed below as he licks blood from his lips. Lance came prepared, as he always does to the arena on the off chance that they can be together. Shiro wastes no more time, lining up the large head of his cock, watching it sink with familiar ease into Lance's body, followed by every inch of his shaft. Lance squirms and bucks, trying to get more, eager to be full.

Once Shiro is fully sheathed, he slides his hands up Lance's long legs till he reaches his feet. He grabs hold of the stems of Lance's heels, holding them tight as he spreads Lance's legs, enjoying the sight of them splayed open in the air.

Then he begins to rut, hard and fast. Lance's hands grasp the edges of the table, knuckles going white as he braces himself. His ass soon reddens from Shiro's hips ramming into it. Blue eyes lock on grey as Lances coaxes, "Fuck me, Shiro. Harder! Harder, damn it!" Shiro snarls, pushing Lances legs until he's bent in half, following until he's crushing Lance with his weight, still holding onto his heels. "Fuck me like you mean it," Lance hisses, hands going down to spread himself open wider, letting Shiro get deeper. "Break me!"

Shiro lets loose a feral roar as his powerful muscles flex, hips slamming down hard enough to make the table groan in protest. He knows that even with preparation that Lance is probably bleeding now, but he can't stop. The tears come then, and with a bestial show of teeth he comes. Lance's hands are suddenly caressing his face, fingers burrowing into his hair, stroking him as only a lover can. Shiro presses in as deep as he can, wanting to reach the very center of Lance, plant himself in his very core. His eyes roll back as his orgasm wrecks him with pleasure that borders on pain, his full balls emptying their huge load deep inside Lance.

Lance arches, hands still cupping Shiro's face as he grinds down, hips rolling, and then his muscles flutter around Shiro's cock as he joins him in momentary bliss.

But that's all it is: momentary, fleeting. In the quiet space between worlds, they stare at each other, becoming just Shiro and Lance again for mere seconds, souls eclipsing.

And then hands are on Shiro, grabbing him roughly, tearing him away from Lance. His cock pops free, leaving a wet mess behind. He stares into Lance's eyes, watches as the mask descends once more, plunging him into the darkness. He lets himself be pulled away, his own mask falling back into place. He briefly struggles as the muzzle is placed back over his face, his own hot breath trapped inside it suffocating him as it's locked back in place.

He will go willingly, would go willingly, but then he watches as they slide a bag over Lance's head, cinching it tight. Lance thrashes, taken by surprise, and the soldiers manhandle him, one taking a baton and hitting Lance in the thigh to help subdue him.

As his lover stumbles, held between his guards, unable to see, Shiro goes berserk. He feels nothing, sees nothing besides Lance. He strikes with fists, pummeling until he can get his hands on a weapon. He wields the baton with efficiency, and it's no wonder as he's a trained killer. He screams behind his muzzle, or maybe it's Lance who screams as he destroys anyone who gets in his way.

He kills at least ten of them before the pain switch buried inside him by the druids is flipped, and even then he manages to potentially mortally wound several more before the pain becomes too great, dropping him to his knees. He chokes on the frothing spittle trapped beneath his muzzle, sides heaving with exertion and pain. Lance glows in his tear-blurred vision; some time in the struggle he was able to take the hood off. They stare at each other with despairing knowledge as Lance is dragged away. Shiro's body shakes with pain until a baton meets the side of his head and everything goes black.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me as keirdark on tumblr!


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